Nintieth Entry

I'm gonna start using bigger type, so's people can read. I was using tiny type before and it was fucking with my line breaks, but not all of my writing should suffer in tiny fonts, such as this one today. For those of you in the know, I never left New York. I got a job teaching college freshmen the finer points of grammar, and I have a girlfriend, for now. I'm writing less and less. But starting to do this site again will hopefully push me onward! EXCELSIOR!

Here's my poem:

MICROWAVE

I’m taking classes. Being born in between heat coils, wrapped like bacon, freaked out of the lights. I liberate my nation through quiet grassroots means, through timid committee meetings, my Bastille lives on in the silent peace, untouched like museums. Taught how to speak by friendly monks. I was born against bricks, and came out running. I wasn’t good at tennis nor at model-making, so I began my life in the theater. I am actually Legion. I bent wild cobra on my knee, spanked him, corrected him. After my kabuki studies, I enjoyed steaming plates for the passengers. For the finale, I emerged in the cluster of noodles, pressing my face from the wet wiggly surface. I looked south. While fishing, the hook entered my chest and wrapped around the essence, the lion’s share of my organ. This is considered to be the traditional way.

Eighty-Ninth Entry

Wow, I must have fallen asleep there for awhile.........

Oh, well. No excuses. Right back on the horse.

Here's my poem:

OPENING CEREMONY

The sans-culottes were muttering in their graves that night, rolling in pseudo-fury. Their ideas and a confiscated printing press sat blandly in the museum. Conflicts between night watchmen over when to take breaks were never mediated. The night watchmen have withdrawn to the forest, and the public have been freely admitted. We were obliged to listen to several speeches, orators spitting, spraying and drooling on all. As if to say a last goodbye, the exhibits trotted in a circle through the crowd before marching out the exits and leaving us holding their coats. We were forced to admit how dark it was. On the horizon, campfires appeared to light themselves. Towards the end of the month someone suggested leaving the museum but this was voted down. Jumping from the windows, a deputy stood among us and spoke. “We must find relief from the pain and irritation of the skin disease which is slowly putrefying our flesh.” I responded that I liked the way I was, just one voice in the growing stir. Stags and rabbits were then slaughtered wholesale. I began to wonder why I got involved in this poem in the first place. I saw some very young boys playing with human heads. Rather than interfere, I became the ad hoc referee to their sport, which eventually became our great nation’s pasttime.